Developing
by S. Kiley
Summary: PostImpulse. The crew must deal with the changes that have affected them all in the Expanse.
1. Developing I

Title: "Developing I- Clarification"  
  
Author: S. Kiley  
  
Contact: slkiley@plutonianshore.com  
  
Series: ENT  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: $ to Paramount; Comments to me.  
  
Codes: A/T'P, romance, action, drama, angst, humor  
  
Summary: Post-Impulse. Archer has been so hostile lately; T'Pol finds out what's what. Part 1 of a continuing story.  
  
"Captain-"  
  
"What?" came the gruff response. Archer was bent over a data pad, studying something intently. T'Pol took careful notice of Archer's tone, and proceeded. Obstinate was the word most frequently coming to mind when she thought of Archer lately.  
  
"I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me."  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
T'Pol pursed her lips, looking at the mess that was once the Captain's ready room. Half-empty cups from the mess hall littered the desk area. More screens had been moved into the room so that Archer could consult several star charts at once. The room smelled of sweat and frustration. "Captain, as your science officer, I believe I speak for the entire crew when I say that no one expects you to find the Xindi tonight."  
  
"Well, the rest of the crew has pretty low expectations, then."  
  
T'Pol closed the door to the ready room behind her and took a few steps until she was standing at the captain's side. "Captain, I am concerned for your health." He tensed even more, if that was possible. T'Pol felt the waves of negative energy that rolled off of him. "Missing one meal won't kill me, Sub commander." He pulled away from her, moving over to the other side of the room to study a star chart on a touch screen.  
  
Undaunted, T'Pol followed him. "Captain, I am not merely referring to tonight's meal. Your actions have been strained lately, and it is taking an obvious toll on your physical health," she persisted, hoping sound logic would ring through. Sometimes Archer surprised her by responding to what she thought most humans would brush off. It was one of the traits that fascinated her about humans-their ability to change, and adapt so easily. In just two short years, T'Pol had seen Archer become a reasonable, logical diplomat, using his mind to sort out problems of the heart more and more. Somewhere inside, she allowed herself to privately meditate on the small pride she felt at this.  
  
Archer didn't look at her. "Don't you think Doctor Phlox should be the judge of that?" he snapped.  
  
Obstinate was most certainly the word coming to mind now. "Captain- " she placed a hand on his back, and pulled away as he gasped in pain. He crumpled and drew away, gripping the side of the computer console so hard his knuckles whitened. "I'm going to summon Doctor Phlox."  
  
"No," he croaked. "That's an order."  
  
"You are in extreme pain-"  
  
"There's nothing Phlox can do without drugging me. I need to be clear headed."  
  
"You are not very clear headed now, Captain," she observed. "I don't remember that being any of your business, and if you choose to make it your business, I can find a science officer who won't. Dismissed." he spat.  
  
T'Pol prickled for a fraction of a second and then took a deep cleansing breath, feeling her own glimmer of frustration not just with the stress of the crew but also with the way the Expanse was affecting her control. Neither was logical, and thus both were profoundly confusing. "Yes, Captain," she said curtly. She turned on heel, and exited the ready room.  
  
A plate filled with broccoli and a piece of cheesecake clattered down onto the table, disturbing T'Pol's quiet meditation, and knocking her cooling cup of green tea. "I'm sorry." Archer plopped into the seat across from T'Pol much in the same way he had dropped his pitiful excuse for dinner. "Not just for the tea," he said feebly.  
  
T'Pol opened her eyes and unfolded her body from the lotus position she had adopted on the hard metal chair. She had been taking up meditation in the mess hall lately, disturbed by the sounds of mating coming from the next room. Ensign Klepper and her "partner" had come up with a rather noisy way of dealing with the stress of the new mission, which only lasted about an hour, but during which concentration in the room sharing an air duct was nearly impossible. The disruption was small enough, and the situation delicate enough that T'Pol didn't mind accommodating the ensign.  
  
T'Pol watched Archer pour what seemed like a mountain of salt onto his vegetables, biting back a comment about heart disease and unhealthy eating habits in humans. "You were correct in your assessment, Captain. You can find another science officer if you feel that I am unfit for the position."  
  
Archer didn't say anything to that. He dug a fork stubbornly into his broccoli and shoved it into his mouth, chewing almost as an afterthought. T'Pol carefully wiped the spilled tea droplets from the table, waiting.  
  
"I don't want another science officer, T'Pol. You're doing a great job. I don't think anyone could do this job as well as you do."  
  
"Thank you," she said politely. She sipped her tea. "I am glad you have decided to pursue nourishment . . . of some kind."  
  
Archer sat up and winced slightly. "I'm sorry about overreacting earlier. I'm afraid I fared worse than everyone else and I'm still recovering from my 'out of body experience' so to speak. It's still rather painful."  
  
"Perhaps you should consider letting me take command for a few days so you can rest."  
  
Archer nodded dismissively. "Perhaps." He dug his fork maliciously into the cheesecake, chewing but not really tasting.  
  
T'Pol knew that tone. 'Perhaps' was 'no' in Archer-speak. "Captain, I think you should consider this more seriously. It is not merely your physical health I am concerned with. You have been extremely . . . volatile these recent weeks. Mental stress can lead to physical illness."  
  
"Well, in case you haven't noticed, everyone's under a lot of stress around here, T'Pol," he snapped. A wash of regret covered his face as soon as the words were out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" Frustrated, he dropped his fork to the plate. It clattered noisily in the silent mess hall.  
  
"I have been frustrated, lately, T'Pol. Finding the Xindi hasn't proved easy and we seem to encounter more problems than we have solutions for. And then . . ." he trailed off.  
  
T'Pol leaned forward. "Captain, if you feel overwhelmed by the task, I can do more to help alleviate the burden-"  
  
Archer coughed. "It's not so much that. I mean, it is that, but it's . . ." His eyes caught hers a moment and he looked away. "It's a . . . personal problem."  
  
"Is there something I can do?"  
  
"You wouldn't understand," he muttered, looking away.  
  
"Captain, you have not yet attempted to explain the situation to me. It is illogical to assume I wouldn't understand your predicament."  
  
"It has to deal with emotions, T'Pol. I don't know-" he stopped mid- sentence, biting his lower lip in frustration. He pushed up from the table abruptly.  
  
"Vulcans have emotions; we just choose to repress them for the greater good. The little I do know of human motions from being on this ship is that hey need to be dealt with in some form. Whether you need to seek Dr. Phlox's counseling, or if you need to meditate, you must-"  
  
"I've meditated on this particular emotion for a good long time, T'Pol." He moved over to the window, watching the star lines.  
  
"Perhaps Dr. Phlox-"  
  
"This is not something I can discuss with him. His . . . lack of knowledge of human emotions, customs and rituals make this particular problem seem more unwieldy, not less."  
  
T'Pol continued. "Is there someone human you could-"  
  
"The only human I could really trust wouldn't do- he's part of the problem."  
  
"Captain, I trust you implicitly, and I feel that you could trust me to listen, even if I don't understand."  
  
'That won't work either. You're part of the problem," he admitted. Silence fell heavy over the mess hall; so quiet Archer could hear the gentle thrum of the warp drive.  
  
She swallowed softly. "You can leave me on the next habitable planet, and I-"  
  
"Stop that!' he said angrily, turning towards her. "I'm not leaving you behind. I'm not leaving anyone behind." He paused. "It's not about that anyway, T'Pol."  
  
T'Pol took a deep breath. "If I am part of a problem, I would like to know about it. Although I may not completely understand human emotions, I often find that logic can be just as easily applied to problems of human emotion as well as Vulcan."  
  
Archer shook his head. "This isn't something I can talk to you about."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because it's not logical," he snapped angrily. "It's so completely illogical that it doesn't even make sense to me the illogical emotion- driven human." He kicked a chair.  
  
She inhaled sharply, still unused to seeing the man she had though of as good-natured and even-tempered reacting to inner turmoil with such violence, though that had become the norm for him lately. "Captain, you are not yourself as of late. You are not a violent person, but your actions-"  
  
"I know about you and Trip," he said glibly.  
  
T'Pol quieted. Ship gossip. Trip had told her about it and she had dismissed it as just that-gossip meant to keep idle minds busy. But why . . .  
  
"I didn't mean that to sound the way it did," Archer said sheepishly. "You are a member of my crew and a senior officer and as such, free to socialize with anyone you wish to . . ." he trailed off.  
  
She fluttered slightly at this, confused. "Commander Tucker-"  
  
"Look, if this is . . . logical . . . or whatever . . . and it is logical, humans and Vulcans are very similar in many ways, so it only makes sense," he said, fumbling. T'Pol had the sense that he was, to coin a human phrase, 'beating around the bush'. "And I'm glad that this . . . experimentation . . . has been working out for you. For you and Trip."  
  
T'Pol's eyes widened, some of the puzzle pieces beginning to fall into place. "Captain-"  
  
He held up a hand. "Just let me finish, T'Pol." Archer paused, turned to look out the window at the star lines again. "I just . . . I thought that there was something . . . happening between us. Or, not happening, but developing . . . and I've never been very good at reading signals from humans, let alone Vulcans . . ."  
  
T'Pol stood, taking a few steps towards him. "Jonathon," she said. Archer turned, somewhat surprised. T'Pol had never used his first name in the two and a half years they'd been on board together. "I believe you are under the wrong impression concerning my relationship with Commander Tucker."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Commander Tucker and I are not romantically involved," she said plainly. Archer turned to look at her. "I believe this is the 'experimentation' that you are referring to?"  
  
"You're not?" he asked, puzzled.  
  
T'Pol shook her head. "No, Captain. We are not romantically involved."  
  
"Then what-"  
  
"Commander Tucker has been suffering from insomnia; Dr. Phlox suggested that Vulcan neuropressure treatments might be just what he needs. It consists of the manipulation of certain pressure points mainly along the spinal column for stress relief. If you don't mind my saying so, you could probably benefit from treatments like these yourself, once your wounds heal completely."  
  
Archer's face took on a strange light. "So you and Trip aren't-"  
  
T'Pol tilted her head back and gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. She clasped her hand to her mouth as soon as she was finished, stunned by her reaction. "Excuse me," she said all smooth politeness again. "The expanse has been affecting my control. The idea of myself and Commander Tucker pursuing a romantic relationship is so completely absurd . . . my apologies, Captain."  
  
Archer grinned at her. "I always knew you had a sense of humor, T'Pol." His face had still had that strange light, T'Pol noted. He looked suddenly supremely . . . happy.  
  
"You mentioned some kind of development. . ." she began. Archer's face dropped a little. He looked supremely uncomfortable. "If this is not a topic that you wish to discuss-"she began.  
  
"No," he stopped her. "It's something I should discuss-we should discuss. Just so we're playing with a full deck."  
  
"A full deck?"  
  
"It's an expression," he said carelessly. "It means that everyone knows what everyone else knows-everyone knows what's going on."  
  
"What is going on?"  
  
He bit his lip, taking a step towards her. "T'Pol, you and I have become allies over the past two and a half years. Friends, even. Wouldn't you say?"  
  
"I find your company stimulating and enjoyable most of the time," she acquiesced.  
  
Archer bit back his own laughter. I love the way she talks, he thought fleetingly. "T'Pol, many human relationships-romantic relationships- develop out of friendships. . ." he trailed off. Why was this so difficult? He took a step closer, looking into her eyes. "I just . . . I felt like that was a possibility for us . . . could be a possibility for us. And then I started hearing about you and Trip . . . it was upsetting, to say the least. "  
  
T'Pol felt a strange fluttering inside. I'm getting sick, she thought, rationally. I'm probably still not over the experience on the Vulcan ship. "Allow me to reiterate, Captain, that Commander Tucker and I have a purely professional and platonic relationship."  
  
Archer decided to go for broke. "T'Pol, is there something going on between us? Do you think . . ."  
  
T'Pol cut in quickly. "It is difficult for me to make any firm observations on your feelings or this . . . developing relationship. I have never been in such close contact with humans, or trusted one as completely as I trust you." She paused, and then reached out, and touched his hand, surprising herself with the instinctual gesture. His fingers wrapped around hers, responding. Warning signs were flashing in her head. Meditate, she thought, I need to meditate. She felt the gentle tug of emotion pull at her and steeled herself against it. "If something is developing," she said softly, "it seems only logical that we not stunt its growth before we know more about it."  
  
She felt emotion pulling more insistently at her. She dropped his hand, regaining some of her composure in the process. "I need to finish my meditation," she said, softly excusing herself. Archer still had that lighted look on his face, which only disturbed her more. T'Pol turned, and exited the mess hall quickly.  
  
The doors slid shut behind her with a soft click. Archer's soft smile spilled into a grin. "Just when I think you're not going to surprise me anymore, T'Pol," he said quietly.  
  
He picked up the dishes from the table and took them to the appropriate bin. He grimaced as he twisted, pain shooting up his back. Vulcan neuropressure, huh? he thought. 


	2. Developing II: Interruption

Chapter Two: Interruption  
  
"So, I've been doing some reading about Vulcan stuff."  
  
T'Pol looked up, startled. She hadn't even heard the slide of the door. It took a second for her to comprehend the words spoken. Her concentration shattered, T'Pol raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with Commander Tucker's articulation. "Excuse me?"  
  
Trip ambled across the threshold of T'Pol's quarters, complete ease and self-assurance. The doors closed with a soft swoosh behind him, as he plopped unceremoniously on the floor. T'Pol sat on the bed, lotus-style, traditional Vulcan neuropressure garments hanging loosely from her thin frame. Trip curled his nose at the harsh scent of coming from the candle. T'Pol said it was a scent based on some kind of flower Surak had found calming. To Trip, it smelled like a cross between sandalwood, pumpkin and eucalyptus-none of which he was particularly fond of. He drew a deep breath and blew the candle out with one huff.  
  
"Vulcan stuff," he said simply. "Like Surak."  
  
T'Pol felt a flash of irritation, watching candle wax splatter on the floor. She drew in a calming breath. Meditation was a time for reflection on events of the day and emotions felt. It was completed by finding the logical in emotions, sorting out the important reflections on the emotions from the baggage, and clearing the mind. When she meditated, T'Pol was more open emotionally than at any other time. As such, stray emotions sometimes followed her back if she was interrupted.  
  
"Commander, I have not finished meditating yet," she said, keeping her voice in check.  
  
Trip frowned. "Well what the hell ya been doing? It only takes you a half hour usually, and I've called five times in the last two."  
  
"I've been interrupted," she said, thinking about her conversation with the Captain in the mess hall. She felt that strange fluttering again when the memory was brought up.  
  
"Anyway, so I've been reading about Vulcan stuff while I was waiting, and I have some questions."  
  
Realizing that he was most likely not going to allow her to return to her meditation just yet, T'Pol unfolded her body carefully. "I need to finish my meditation soon, Commander. We will only do one posture tonight. Please assume the kat-hana'narange."  
  
Trip's nose wrinkled. "That's the one with the feet, ain't it? I always feel like I'm gonna break something on ya." He pulled his shirt off.  
  
"Do not worry, Commander. I do not require a treatment tonight."  
  
"Ya don't?" he asked. "I thought it was helping you keep in control of your emotions."  
  
T'Pol moved to her closet, and removed the long thin kat-hana'narange bar. It was a long, thin metal bar with two leather straps wrapped around either end. Small metal hooks dangled from the end of the leather straps. "Normally, it does, but as I have been interrupted from my meditations three times this evening, it is more imperative that I finish my routine." She hooked the straps into the grating of the ceiling, so the bar hung parallel to the floor.  
  
Trip pulled off his sweat pants, leaving only his Star Fleet issue drawers and laid down underneath the kat-hana'narange bar on his stomach, his arms stretched above his head as far as they would go. "I didn't mean to interrupt your meditations, T'Pol. I'm covering an early shift tomorrow and I need to get to bed soon, though."  
  
"I understand your impatience, Commander," she said. She selected a bottle of Yang-Burrow, and carefully began rubbing the extract over her bare feet.  
  
"So who else interrupted ya tonight?" he asked.  
  
"There were disruptions from the room next door, and the Captain wished to speak with me when I moved to the mess hall." T'Pol placed her feet on either side of Trip's torso, and reached for the bar above her head. "You said you had questions." She lifted her body up and placed her feet gingerly on the back of Trip's spine, moving them in long sweeps up and down his back.  
  
"So I was reading Surak . . "  
  
"Please relax your shoulder muscles, Commander."  
  
"And it talks about mind melds."  
  
T'Pol's breathing caught. "Mind melds?"  
  
"Yeah, and mind touch."  
  
"You did not read that in Surak," she said simply, moving her feet over his shoulders and upper arms. She bore down, beginning to apply the second level of pressure.  
  
Trip grunted softly. "Ok, so I didn't exactly read it in Surak-"  
  
"I should think not."  
  
"But I did read about it. And I was wondering if it's something you can teach me to do."  
  
"I do not practice Vulcan mysticism." Her feet began moving down, over Trip's thighs.  
  
"What?" he said incredulously. "What is all this neuropressure crap about then?"  
  
T'Pol's feet moved over Trip's calves. "Neuropressure is not mysticism."  
  
"The hell it's not! You're rubbing me down with your feet and it makes me feel like sleeping. I'd say that's pretty damn mystic."  
  
"There is nothing mystic about it. There are certain pressure points in your body which with correct breathing and certain applications-"  
  
"It's not logical."  
  
"It most certainly is." T'Pol increased the pressure as she moved over Trip's lower back again. "Just because it is not prescribed in a cream or hypo spray does not mean that what you would call 'homeopathic care' does not work or is not logical. It is merely a different way to look at physical ailments and how to deal with them."  
  
Trip's breathing grew labored as her weight bore down on his ribcage, her small toes digging ferociously into his sides and shoulders. "I've never heard of anybody else logically comin' to the conclusion that they could use their feet to make someone else feel better."  
  
She dug hard into his upper arms, close to completing the last phase of the neuropressure treatment. "Actually, this practice is very similar to the body training done by Kathakali dance-drama teachers in pre-contact India. Teachers would select young pupils who would be trained in the physically intensive Kathakali practices that included being able to move your body in demanding ways. Many teachers would walk on their pupil's backs to help stretch and condition the body." With this, T'Pol slid her feet off of Trip, placing herself firmly on the ground.  
  
"So you won't tell me about mind melds and mind touches?"  
  
She slowly began to unhook the bar from the ceiling. "What I could tell you, Commander, would be conjecture at best. I have never been trained in those arts, if you can call them that, and I know little of the practices. I do not believe that they can be performed with humans, and I do not wish to try. They are dangerous and can be harmful." She thought of her experience with Tolaris, and an image flashed in her mind. Soft jazz music, the thrill of being in disguise. .  
  
She swallowed hard, forcing herself back into the here and now. She suddenly felt awkward and strange in her revealing neuropressure garments. . . awkward in her own skin.  
  
Trip sighed, standing up with some difficulty. "Ya know, I'm here tryin' all this Vulcan homeopathic neuropressure stuff and I'm tryin' to be all nice and open to your culture, and some of it's even workin' for me, but you keep all these secrets about yourself. And when I try to take an interest in your culture, you brush me off. I just don't understand it, T'Pol." He pulled on his shirt and began struggling to move his sore legs into the sweatpants. He bounced slightly and knocked against a table. T'Pol's candle tipped, hot wax spilling all over her open copy of The Teachings of Surak.  
  
"Aww shit," he muttered. He picked up the candle, and attempted to brush away some of the hot wax. A page ripped from the book, stuck limply to his hand.  
  
Her head pounded suddenly, and she felt something clawing at her. Emotion. Anger. Frustration. Rage. "You insult my spiritual leader and nearly everything about my ways, from your ignorance of my personal space to your lack of respect for my quarters and belongings. You lied to me in order to introduce taboo and uncomfortable topics into the conversation, and I do not appreciate your ungrateful accusations, nor do I share the same vulgar, barbaric human views, that just because I can do something, I should."  
  
Trip blinked, flabbergasted at her outburst. He pulled his sweatpants up, placing the page gingerly on the table beside the ruined book. "T'Pol, are you feelin' all right?" She said nothing, breathing deeply. He felt like he should say something, but he wasn't sure what. He'd never seen her so . . . emotional before. So angry. "Listen, I'm sorry for-"  
  
"Get out of my quarters. And please remember to do me the courtesy of not interrupting my meditation again this evening or in the future." T'Pol chided herself, breathing deeply to get control. Her anger had risen like a tidal wave inside, crashing through and engulfing her in its rage. It was not Trip's fault. He was just being himself-  
  
I can't stand him, she thought suddenly. I hate him. "Get out now."  
  
Trip backpedaled for the door. He opened the hatch quickly and stepped outside. "I'm sorry," he said again, before closing the door and leaving.  
  
T'Pol breathed a sigh of relief once the door shut. She shoved the kath-hana'narange bar into her closet and pulled off the neuropressure garments. She pulled on her pajamas and quickly re-lit her meditation candle. She picked up the Teachings of Surak. It was completely ruined. Angrily, she hurled it at the ground. It thudded against the deck, and skidded towards the door.  
  
Meditate. Anger is an emotion. Anger is not logical. Meditation is logical. She lit the candle Trip had blown out and assumed the lotus-style position in front of it. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling restless. She cleared her mind, feeling the void behind her eyes darken and deepen. Relaxing her mind, she made herself aware of all the physical things, her clothes touching her skin, the cool bed beneath her, the slight heat from the candles. And then she began to sift through the different situations she had encountered during the day since her last meditation.  
  
During her morning meditations, she had come to a decision that she needed to encourage Ensign Sato more, since she seemed to respond better to positive feedback than pressure. Today, she had managed to find time to compliment the Ensign on how well she was mastering the Vulcan language. The ensign had brightened at the statement, and seemed to work harder that afternoon at deciphering some coded Xindi transmissions they had managed to intercept.  
  
She had also decided to bring up the Captain's unusual behavior to him. Although his initial response had been anything but positive, he had confided in her. Her mind sifted back over their conversation in the mess hall, trying to sort out her own feelings, and make it logical. The Captain had believed she and Commander Tucker had a romantic relationship. It was logical for him to assume so, but illogical for him to feel coy about finding an answer. He was the Captain, a senior officer, and although he had not made any firm policy on after hours fraternization, it would be logical for him to be concerned. Commander Tucker was a most emotional being, and she could easily see him acting inappropriately when emotionally engaged. Humans by nature associated sex with love, so the Captain's feelings were logical.  
  
I thought that there was something . . . happening between us. Or, not happening, but developing . . .  
  
What was developing between her and the Captain? He certainly felt inclined towards her, in a more than friendly way. His jealousy at her supposed relationship was logical. He was a human; humans needed love and thrived on it-much the way Ensign Sato thrived on positive compliments. As Captain, it would be wholly inappropriate for him to have a romantic relationship with nearly everyone on board-they were all his subordinates.  
  
Except her.  
  
It was logical. She breathed in and out slowly. She was his only choice, so it was logical that he might see her as a potential partner. She had broken her engagement months ago, and the combination of her Pan'ar Syndrome and her disgraceful resignation from the High Command would make her an undesirable outcast amongst her own species. Although there might be some Vulcans who could understand the logic behind her choices, the chances of finding someone who shared that view were slim at best. No Vulcans had ever chosen to mate with another species, but if one was an outcast from Vulcan society, such as she had made herself, the choices for reproduction became exceedingly small.  
  
Could she choose to mate with another species? Was such a choice logical? Her mind spider webbed, looking at the issue from all angles, but not coming to a decision. It was, she decided, a distinct possibility, given her situation. And when faced with a choice of whom she would share herself with, her mind only came up with one name she felt she could trust.  
  
It is logical, she decided. If something is developing, her decision to let it take its course was logical. Poetry flittered to her mind, "no one knows where the road may lead". Sage words.  
  
Her mind drifted to her ruined copy of The Teachings of Surak. Hot, flashing anger boiled to the surface. She gasped, breathing deeply. Trip's casual mention of mind melds and mind touch insulted her. He had no idea what Vulcan culture entailed, and like most lewd humans, only wished to know the dirty secrets, not the beauty and wonder of logic.  
  
That's not true, she told herself. Not all humans are lewd. And it is a natural curiosity. Especially for one just beginning neuropressure treatments, and one who did not respect boundaries like Commander Tucker. It was just the way he was. It had nothing to do with her.  
  
She breathed in and out several times. Commander Tucker's curiosity was logical; his manner of gathering information was illogical. Why was she so furious at his destruction of her property?  
  
It was only an accident, she repeated. He cannot help his clumsiness. You could have controlled your outburst. You have control over your emotions, your mind.  
  
T'Pol thought of the brash way he had entered her quarters and blown out her meditation candle carelessly. It was logical for him to come seek me out-illogical that he entered without permission. Permission could easily have been granted or denied. It is rash to enter without permission. It is illogical. He is illogical.  
  
She backed away from that thought, finding emotion still festering on that situation. His clumsiness is logical-he was attempting to quickly and distractedly put clothes on. It is illogical to be angry with him for his clumsiness.  
  
His anger at being left in the dark was both logical and illogical; he had no idea that it still gave her flashbacks to think of her incident with Tolaris, flashbacks that made her feel helpless and weak; out of control when she was already having problems fighting for control against the Expanse and her close relationships with the emotional humans on board. But his anger at her lack of explanation was also illogical-he had no business asking such personal and taboo questions. He must have known they were taboo as well-otherwise he never would have used the ridiculous ruse of reading something in Surak's Teachings. He hoped to give credibility to his curiosity.  
  
My response was both logical and illogical as well, she decided. Her feelings were illogical, of course, but it was logical for her to feel as she did because of her lack of meditation at the time. She had not yet come to terms with all the emotional fissures experienced during the day. Her outburst was extremely logical in the context of her intimate conversation with the Captain. She had felt her control slipping at that time, when she had let subtle amusement break down into full-fledged laughter at the Captain's troubling assumptions.  
  
And there was the Expanse. The longer she stayed in it, the longer she felt her control being challenged constantly. She remembered being very young and having a tug of war with a playmate over a treasured book that had eventually ripped in half. Her mother had chided both of them, carefully examining the argument like T'Pol was doing now and explaining the logical steps that could have been taken rather than to go with gut emotion.  
  
Reflecting on that, she felt the same guilt tug at her. Emotion was not logical. Anger was not logical. She heard her mother's voice in her head. You cannot act so barbaric. Emotion leads us to barbarism. You must learn to keep your emotions in check. Think; don't act. All problems can be solved through logic, if you are just patient enough to follow the sequence.  
  
Patience, she thought. By robbing her of her control, the Expanse also gnawed away at her patience. What it was taking from everyone. Patience. All problems could be solved with logic and time-and patience. Commander Tucker would learn to be more respectful; there was no point making a final judgment on his character now. They would find the Xindi, stop the destruction of Earth and leave the Expanse, which would make it easier to control her emotions. And whatever was developing between her and Archer could continue to develop, at its own pace. She would deal with it logically when she knew more about it. She did not have to choose a mate now; there was time for that later in life. She was not nearing her pon farr, so there would be no reason to choose a mate so soon.  
  
Soft, gentle peace rippled through her like waves on a pond. The world was right again-logic and patience prevailed.  
  
She pulled out of her emotions, backpedaling through her mind, again becoming aware of her physical world. Her eyes opened, staring into the depths of the candle flame, burning low.  
  
The door beeped softly.  
  
"Come in," she called, unfolding her body.  
  
The hatch slid back, and Archer stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry, T'Pol, I didn't know you were meditating-" He began heading back.  
  
"I am finished," she said simply. "Is there something I can do for you, Captain?"  
  
Archer took a step inside. The hatch slid shut behind him. He picked up the Teachings of Surak book lying on the floor. "What happened here?"  
  
"Commander Tucker was clumsy, it is not important."  
  
He nodded, examining the book. "Looks like he did a number on this. What does this neuropressure treatment involve?"  
  
"I assure you, Captain, that it was not the neuropressure treatments. Is that what you wanted to discuss?"  
  
He set the book down on the table gently. "Actually, I just spoke to Hoshi. She managed to decode the transmission we received. It's from a Xindi prison colony not too far from here. I'm hoping there's someone there who will can give us some more information, since I'm sure they have as much love for the Xindis as we do."  
  
"Undoubtedly."  
  
Archer nodded again. "I'll tell Lieutenant Mason to change course." He moved his hands like he wasn't sure what to do with them and ended up sticking them in the pockets of his sweatpants. "Well, I'll let you get to sleep. Good night, T'Pol."  
  
"Good night, Captain."  
  
He turned and headed towards the door, pausing a moment at the threshold. "By the way, it smells very nice in here, T'Pol."  
  
T'Pol felt that strange feeling in her stomach again, but it didn't worry her as much. It was soft warmth, almost like a glow. "The scented candles I use for meditation are based on the Yang-Burrow flower. Surak found the scent to be very calming."  
  
"It is. Good night, T'Pol."  
  
He slipped out the door quietly.  
  
T'Pol felt warm. She quietly blew out the candles, and lay down on her bed. In minutes, she was peacefully asleep.  
  
Thank you to everyone who responded to Chapter One. Your comments encouraged me to flesh out what was originally meant to be only a vignette. 


End file.
